


No Secrets in the ABC Café

by thechandrian



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables RPF
Genre: Afterlife, Crack, Heaven, M/M, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechandrian/pseuds/thechandrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Were Aaron and George the perfect E & R? That's because they had help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Secrets in the ABC Café

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No harm intended, no profit made. I do not own Les Miserables.

It had been nearly two hundred years since the June Rebellion of 1832, since Grantaire had stood beside Enjolras, and asked “do you permit it?” Grantaire remembered Enjolras’s reassuring smile like it was just yesterday, and the happiness he’d felt right before his death.

Of course, he hadn’t expected much to happen after that, and was surprised when he’d woken up beside Enjolras, on a barricade in the sky, surrounded by the rest of the _amis_ and the others who’d died in the rebellion.

After a bit of exploring, they’d discovered that they were, in fact, in heaven, which had taken the form of all their deepest wishes: a barricade where they could be free, where they hadn’t been deserted by the people. There was also a never-ending supply of wine for Grantaire, which pleased him, since he no longer had to consider the long-term health concerns of being an alcoholic.

Arriving in heaven had done wonders for Grantaire’s state of mind. He’d believed for most of his life that living and hoping were pointless since everyone eventually died and that was the end. He’d frequently made fun of his friends for believing that positive change could be enacted at all, let alone within their lifetimes. Now, he was spending eternity with his friends, and with Enjolras. It was more than he ever dared dream.

“Grantaire!” he heard Courfeyrac’s voice call over. Ever since dying, Grantaire had gotten closer to all of the _amis_ , including Courfeyrac and Combeferre, who he knew were previously frustrated with his cynicism back when they were all alive and plotting revolution at the Café Musain. “Where’s Enjolras?”

In death, Grantaire and Enjolras had become basically inseparable. Enjolras had been immensely grateful and shocked by Grantaire’s actions on that June 6th so many years ago, and when they had first arrived in heaven, Enjolras had pulled Grantaire in for such a fierce hug Grantaire thought that he might suffocate. Of course, he soon realized that he was dead and couldn’t suffocate even if Enjolras held him forever, which he wouldn’t oppose.

“Cloud-hopping,” Grantaire said. One of Enjolras’s heaven-hobbies over the past twenty years or so, after the political turmoil had calmed down in France and he finally stopped staring down at the living world and shouting and face-palming and raging, included meditation by hopping from cloud to cloud. Grantaire thought it was a rather cute hobby.

“Well, when you see him,” Courfeyrac said, “tell him we’re all going to visit Marius’s cloud for an anniversary of his death celebration.”

“Okay,” Grantaire said. The _amis_ had all been surprised when Marius finally joined them in heaven. Although he’d died as an old man, in the afterlife he resembled the young boy that had once been so lovesick over Cosette. Grantaire smiled at the memories of making fun of him to get Enjolras’s attention. Good times.

There was really no linear sense of time in heaven, but Grantaire assumed that on earth at least an hour had passed before Enjolras returned, jumping between clouds.

Instead of looking tranquil and happy to see Grantaire, he seemed ready to kill. Grantaire wondered what on earth he could have seen.

“Grantaire, you’ll never guess what I just had the horror of beholding,” Enjolras said, resembling an angel, and pacing back and forth along the heaven-barricade.

“What?” Grantaire said, curious what could have gotten Enjolras so perturbed.

“You know what films are, right?” Enjolras asked.

“Kind of,” Grantaire responded. The technology that had since been invented down on earth usually amazed, confounded, or offended the _amis._ Grantaire knew that Enjolras was rather fond of the hairdryer and curling iron.

“Okay, well,” Enjolras said, still pacing back and forth, picking up a bit of cloud and rolling it into a ball before throwing it at the barricade. It disappeared as soon as it hit into one of the chairs, sending a light mist into the air. “Someone named Tom Hooper has decided that he’s going to tell our stories.”

“Whose stories?” Grantaire asked, not following.

“ _Our_ stories,” Enjolras said, angrily. “Like, the stories of the _amis_ and our rebellion.”

“Are you serious?” Grantaire asked, feeling incredibly violated.

“Serious as a heart attack,” Enjolras said, using one of the phrases he’d picked up from watching the youths on earth. “And you should see who they found to play us.”

Grantaire groaned. He really didn’t want to see how they were interpreting him two hundred years later. He guessed he was probably portrayed as a one-dimensional lovesick alcoholic with an obnoxious unrequited crush on Enjolras.

“Anyway, we have to go down and do something about this,” Enjolras said, with determination.

Grantaire knew that there was no talking Enjolras out of an idea once he’d gotten it into his head. Plus, they hadn’t been down in the world of the living since 1832, and going on an adventure with Enjolras sounded fun.

“Okay,” Grantaire agreed.

Enjolras and Grantaire held hands and jumped down from the barricade into the clouds, where they descended onto earth, becoming disembodied spirits, or ghosts.

 

* * *

Meanwhile, the set of Tom Hooper’s _Les Misérables_ was bursting with excitement. Their current shooting location in Winchester, England was littered with actors’ trailers and set pieces, including a rather large man-made barricade.

On one side of the barricade, the lead actors were all stationed, including none other than Broadway star, Aaron Tveit, who was currently busy styling his famous hair.

On the other side, the supporting actors, including those playing the “barricade boys”, had their trailers set up.

At this moment, Tom Hooper and company were decorating the set for the ABC Café scene, while the make-up and hair crew worked on the barricade boys’ costumes and wigs. All except Aaron, who appeared to be running late.

No one on the set noticed when two ghosts appeared among them.

Grantaire and Enjolras were stunned when they finally reached the earth, though their landing was soft for just falling millions of miles and into another dimension.

“The barricade!” Enjolras said, pointing at the wall of furniture which had been built by a few actors earlier that day. “It’s rather impressive.”

“They even included your red flag,” Grantaire pointed out, looking around him with wonder. It was like he had somehow managed to enter the funhouse version of his old life. He saw the barricade and the Café Musain, but everything looked too artificial. Plus, everyone was speaking in British accents, which meant that they were obviously not really in Paris.

“We’re in a town called Winchester,” Enjolras explained, looking equally confused as small cars drove by at a rapid pace. They stuck close to each other, feeling incredibly out of place in this strange new world.

Suddenly, the make-up and hair tent erupted into song.

Grantaire and Enjolras exchanged a glance before going in to investigate.

When they entered, by simply walking through the tent, because they’re ghosts and don’t bother with doors, they saw a row of about ten chairs lined up, only  eight of which were currently occupied by young men around the ages Grantaire and Enjolras were when they were killed. Grantaire stared at each one in turn, trying to find the one that’d likely be playing him. He found, however, that they were all too attractive for the role.

“Where the fuck are Aaron and Eddie?” the man organizing the wigs exclaimed harshly, as everyone continued singing. “I said be here by seven o’clock!”

“Probably just running late,” the make-up woman replied, looking annoyed at the singing.

All of a sudden the tent entrance burst open to reveal an incredibly cool-looking young man with perfectly styled blonde hair, wearing sunglasses and a button-up shirt that wasn’t exactly buttoned up.

“Man, sorry I’m late,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

The wig man rolled his eyes discreetly and said, “it’s okay, Aaron. Sit down so I can put on your wig.”

Aaron sat down on one of the chairs, and it was only then that Grantaire and Enjolras realized that the chairs were labeled with the actors’ names. Aaron’s was labeled “Aaron Tveit” and he was sitting next to someone called “George Blagden”.

“Hi, Aaron,” George said in a soft voice.

Aaron either didn’t hear him or didn’t care because he turned to the person on his other side, whose chair was labeled “Fra Fee” and asked, “so you guys going to the gym tonight?”

“We certainly are, Aaron,” Fra responded in an accent so Irish no one understood him.

“Aaron, I hate to be a pain,” the wig man said, sounding incredibly exasperated, “but can you please stop styling your hair before coming here? It’s nearly impossible to get this wig on.”

“Sorry, man,” Aaron said, looking at himself in the mirror and touching his hair with reverence. “I have to keep my hair like this for _Graceland_.”

The man’s agitated sigh was cut short as another actor stumbled in, getting caught on the tent’s entrance and tripping into the wig-stand which fell dramatically to the ground, throwing hair everywhere.

Everyone nearly jumped out of their seats at the crash, and the singing ceased.

“He must be playing Marius,” Enjolras noted in a serious voice.

Grantaire struggled not to laugh.

“Eddie,” the make-up woman said, looking down at the disaster before her. “Thank you for finally showing up.”

“Sorry,” Eddie said, sitting down at his chair labeled “Eddie Redmayne”.

After several moments of intense make-up, wig-gluing, and costume changes, the actors in the tent were starting to look much more like the sort of revolutionaries Enjolras and Grantaire had hung out with when they were still alive.

“Which one is you?” Grantaire asked. They were huddled in the corner where they wouldn’t get in the way, even though they were transparent and everyone could probably walk through them.

Enjolras reluctantly pointed over at Aaron Tveit, who was singing a song under his breath.

“ _As long as I got my suit and tie…_ ” he sang to himself, pacing around the tent with swag.

Suddenly, the director, Tom Hooper, burst in, looking frazzled.

“What part of ‘we’re shooting at eight o’clock’ did everyone miss?” he exclaimed.

The two people who’d been in charge of costumes looked pointedly at Aaron, who’d put on sunglasses and was currently posing in front of the mirror.

“Sorry, I was running late,” Eddie explained, looking the very picture of apologetic. “Samantha Barks and I were rehearsing the scene where she sings in the rain.”

“Eddie,” Tom Hooper said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you’re not even in that scene.”

“Oh,” Eddie said.

“Anyway,” Tom Hooper said, clearly having lost all patience, “everyone get over to the set. We’re shooting the café scene.”

He stormed out of the tent hysterically, almost knocking into the ghosts that were creeping in the corner.

“I’m excited for this scene,” said Fra, “it was my favorite when I was playing Enjolras at the West End.”

“What?” Aaron said, clearly unable to understand Fra’s intense Irish accent.

As the group of fake revolutionaries was exiting the tent, Enjolras and Grantaire followed closely behind, eager to observe. They saw George hesitantly make his way over to Aaron, who was strutting at the head of the group, and try to get his attention.

“Uh, Aaron…” George began in a soft British accent.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. It all of a sudden became obvious that this person was meant to be playing him. Of course, George was far more attractive and had fluffier hair. Grantaire supposed no one would want to watch him or sympathize with him if he were unnaturally ugly.

“Aaron, I don’t know if you’ve read the Brick…”

They were entering the set at this point, and between the chaos of the lighting and sound crew setting up, and Aaron fussing with his wig, George was barely heard.

“But there’s this subtextual relationship between Enjolras and Grantaire…” he continued regardless, looking nervous and twisting his wig around his fingers anxiously.

Aaron was about to turn and speak to George when Tom Hooper interrupted, looking just as pissed as earlier. This time he held a megaphone in his hand.

“Whoa, is that really necessary, man?” Aaron asked, clearly taken aback.

It was only Grantaire who heard George mutter softly to himself, “it must be this way.”

“Attention, everyone!” Tom shouted into the megaphone, deafening the ears of everyone nearby and causing quite a few disturbed looks. “Get into places or so help me!”

Enjolras turned to Grantaire suddenly, grabbing his hand to get his attention. Grantaire relished in the touch, still not above becoming ridiculously excited whenever Enjolras showed him attention, even though by now it was much more commonplace.

“This is our chance,” Enjolras said, “go over to your actor and give him some advice, and I’ll try to talk to Aaron Tveit.”

“What’re you going to say?” Grantaire asked, nervous.

“I’m just going to say…maybe, stop touching your wig so much,” Enjolras explained, looking apprehensive. “I don’t really touch my hair that often.”

“Yes, you do,” Grantaire said, stifling a laugh. “You touch your hair a lot.”

“I do not!” Enjolras said, affronted, and touching his hair defensively.

“Maybe it would be better if I went over to talk to fake Enjolras and you went over to talk to fake Grantaire,” Grantaire suggested, as the lights dimmed over the set and everyone was in position.

“Fine,” Enjolras agreed hurriedly.

“ _The time is near…_ ” Aaron began singing enthusiastically.

Enjolras and Grantaire stared at each other for a moment.

“Hold on,” Grantaire said, “why is he singing?”

“Apparently…” Enjolras said, skeptically, his wide eyes filling with fear, “apparently our lives have become a musical.”

With another anxious glance, the two of them went over to their respective actors.

“ _And yet, beware, don’t let the wine go to your brains…”_

Grantaire had approached Aaron Tveit, summoning some ghostly energy in order to make himself visible. He was about to say something intelligent, such as suggesting that Aaron be given a wig with a ponytail, when the line about wine caught him off guard and he began to laugh. “ _Don’t let the wine go to your brains”_ is totally something Enjolras would say – probably he had even said it on one occasion or another. Then he imagined Enjolras bursting into song in the middle of a meeting. It was too funny.

“ _We need a siiii_ — OH MY FUCKING GOD,” Aaron ceased singing and let out a gasp upon seeing Grantaire. He supposed it didn’t help that he was frightfully ugly, and also mildly transparent.

“Aaron, seriously?” Tom called over his megaphone, “what’s the issue?”

“A ghost!” Aaron exclaimed, his wide eyes becoming even wider. Grantaire looked around but it didn’t appear as though anyone except Aaron and Enjolras could see him. Enjolras was face-palming, probably irritated by Grantaire’s lack of subtlety.

“A ghost, you say! A ghost, maybe!” Eddie began singing, not really paying attention to what was actually going on.

“No man, shut up for a minute,” Aaron said, waving his hand at Eddie, who still didn’t look entirely sure whether or not this was part of the script.

“I am agog! I am aghast!” George began singing, “is Marius in love at last?”

“Aaron, fix your face,” Tom Hooper shouted over the megaphone, “Enjolras is annoyed not terrified.”

“Well, maybe I was a little terrified,” Enjolras countered, although no one could hear him. Except, apparently, George, who dropped his bottle of grape juice on the floor and collided into the table, knocking over all the props.

“Oh my!” George shouted, not able to come up with decent profanity when he was scared out of his mind.

“You see the ghost too?” Aaron said, trying to run his fingers through his hair and seeming surprised to realize he was still wearing a wig.

Although Aaron and George were both looking in completely different directions, George still responded, “I think so, Aaron.” He said Aaron’s name like a coo.

“Will everyone just get into positions and sing?” Tom shouted loudly, the megaphone squeaking and making everyone cringe.

“Aaron,” Grantaire tried to explain, distracted by the fact that Aaron did, in fact, look like a more masculine version of Enjolras with his curly blonde hair and red coat. “I am Grantaire. The real one. I’ve come to help you tell our stories.”

“Oh my god,” Aaron said, “I’m hallucinating. This is so penultimate.”

“What?” Grantaire asked, wishing he’d gone over and talked to George instead.

Meanwhile, Enjolras seemed to be having equal trouble with fake Grantaire.

“Citizen,” Enjolras addressed George, who was looking terrified and gripping the edge of the table as though his life depended on it. “I trust you will make a fine Grantaire, but first, let me tell you a little about him. First, he doesn’t drink grape juice.” Enjolras took a moment to scoff at the spilt beverage.

“Oh…okay,” George said, “if you’re really Enjolras, then you can finally answer an age old question.”

Enjolras looked nervous. “Sure.”

“Are you really in love with Grantaire?”

Enjolras blushed deeply and said, “of course I am.”

“I knew it,” George said, taking out his phone and tweeting.

“Aaron. George. Who’re you guys talkin’ to?” Fra asked, exchanging glances with the other actors, all who looked as though they were seconds away from asking what drugs Aaron and George were taking and where they might find some.

“If you guys are done fucking around,” Tom said, once again causing the megaphone to screech painfully, “can we continue the scene?”

“Can we have a couple minutes break?” Eddie asked, clearly sensing Aaron and George’s distress. Not to mention half of the set was destroyed.

“Fine. Fucking Redmayne…” Tom muttered, but because he was speaking into the megaphone everyone within a mile radius heard his frustrations.

The actors dispersed back to their trailers, Aaron and George exchanging a hesitant glance before apparently deciding that having a little hallucination empathy wasn’t worth the trouble of actually speaking to each other.

Grantaire and Enjolras ran into each other’s arms. Grantaire was frazzled but Enjolras merely looked annoyed.

“Aaron is good at being you,” Grantaire commented, looking around the set for wine. “Very dramatic.”

Enjolras scoffed. “I’m going to talk to him. You go talk to George.”

Enjolras kissed Grantaire’s cheek softly before heading off in the direction that Aaron had gone, which, of course, was the complete opposite of the other _amis_ actors.

Grantaire took a moment to properly melt into a puddle in response to the kiss before pulling himself together and heading off after George.

* * *

Enjolras approached the trailer hesitantly. He could hear Aaron singing, although this song was far more upbeat than what they’d been performing back at the fake Café Musain.

“ _WeeEEEE are never ever ever getting back together…_ ” Aaron was singing, filling the air around him with music.

Enjolras was about to walk through the door in a ghostly way when he heard a rough voice talking in the trailer next to Aaron’s labeled “Hugh Jackman.”

“Is he seriously singing Taylor Swift again?” the voice said, sounding exasperated.

Enjolras decided he better try and ask Aaron to keep it down or they’d be interrupted by a horde of angry actors.

Walking through the door, he saw that Aaron was sitting in a chair, sipping from a glass of water, and singing to himself while watching a show on the television.

“Citizen,” Enjolras addressed, trying his best to sound unthreatening.

It didn’t work. Aaron jumped up, spilling his water on the ground, and reaching for his belt. He seemed surprised upon realizing he wasn’t armed.

“Damn,” he cursed, keeping his eyes on Enjolras, “I always forget I’m not a real FBI agent.”

“Uh,” Enjolras stuttered. He was rarely rendered speechless. “I’m here to talk to you. You’re playing me in the film _._ ”

“Enjolras,” Aaron said, although if Enjolras hadn’t realized he was being addressed he wouldn’t have even recognized his name. It came out sounding like In-jowl-ras.

“It’s _Enjolras_ ,” Enjolras corrected, looking around the trailer at the modern technology.

“ON-JOL-RAS,” Aaron repeated. He was very loud, but seemed dedicated to learning, which Enjolras appreciated.

“Yes,” Enjolras said. Suddenly there was a loud fire of gunshots from the television. “What’s that?” Enjolras asked, having never seen a television before.

“Oh, man,” Aaron said, looking incredibly enthused and a little less frightened about there being a ghost in his trailer, “this is the pilot for my new show, _Graceland_.”

“It looks interesting,” Enjolras commented. It actually looked a little weird.

“The thing you have to remember about _Graceland_ ,” Aaron began, and he was all of a sudden quite close to Enjolras, staring into his soul, “your lies are your life.”

“Okay,” Enjolras said, hesitantly, unsure if he was under attack. He decided to ignore Aaron’s eccentricity and continue, “citizen, I am here to ensure that you do my friends’ stories justice. Tell me a bit about your character which is, in fact, me.”

“Well,” Aaron said, never once stuttering even when put on the spot, “my character is a French revolutionary who is best friends with Marius—”

“Stop,” Enjolras said, holding up his hand. “Just stop. First of all, best friends with Marius? Please.”

Enjolras liked Marius but he’d hardly refer to them as best friends, especially not for the time period Aaron was meant to be portraying. He distinctly remembered kicking Marius out of their first meeting.

“According to Tom Hooper…” Aaron began, but was interrupted once again by Enjolras.

“Was Tom Hooper around during the June Rebellion? No,” Enjolras tried to hide his frustration.

“Okay,” Aaron said, looking as though he were taking mental notes.

“Now,” Enjolras continued, “I suggest you talk with George Blagden, as he plays my current lover, Grantaire.”

“Who? Grantaire? George Blagden? What?” Aaron looked baffled.

“George Blagden plays Grantaire,” Enjolras explained, scoffing. “They’re talking together right now. When you return to shoot the café scene, we will be hovering just off set.”

“Great,” Aaron said, “that won’t be distracting.”

The two of them fell into a silence, interrupted only by a voice from the television saying, “there are no secrets in Graceland _._ ”

* * *

Meanwhile, in George’s trailer, Grantaire and George were literally having the time of their lives.

“So you’re saying people really write stories about Enjolras and I in love?” Grantaire asked, staring at George’s computer with disbelief. He was currently reading a story entitled, “Get It In, Grantaire” which was basically well-written porn.

“Yes,” George said, enthusiastically. “It’s called e/R.”

“No way,” Grantaire said, scrolling through the many different stories. “Enjolras would freak out if he saw these.”

“I can’t believe you two are actually real,” George said, with wide blue eyes, “I think Enjolras and Grantaire are the greatest. I’ve read the Brick so many times, but my favorite parts were always when Enjolras and Grantaire speak to each other. Or when Enjolras tells Grantaire he doesn’t believe in anything and Grantaire says ‘you’ll see’. Whenever I feel sad, I always whisper to myself: George, they died holding hands. And suddenly, I feel better.”

Grantaire was just staring at George as though he’d found his immensely more attractive lost twin.

“What’s the Brick?” Grantaire asked, trying to concentrate on anything other than the fact he’d found someone as passionate about his relationship as he was.

“It’s a book written by Victor Hugo that this whole musical is based on,” George explained. “It’s called the Brick because it’s really long.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, making a mental note to mention this book to Enjolras.

“So,” George said, folding his hands politely in his lap, “since I’m portraying you, I have a few questions. First, how drunk should I be? Moderately? Extremely? Falling over? Also, have you ever actually called Enjolras ‘Apollo’ in real life?”

“Uh,” Grantaire began, struggling to remember his personality two hundred years ago, “I call Enjolras all manner of pet names, many of them Greek in origin.”

“So cute!” George squealed before getting control of himself, “I mean, thank you, that’s very informative.”

“I wonder how Enjolras is making out with Aaron…” Grantaire mumbled.

“Enjolras probably loves Aaron!” George exclaimed, in a voice louder than Grantaire would have thought him capable, “Aaron is seriously the greatest, he’s a perfect Enjolras, he has such an amazing voice and he’s in this show called _Graceland_ where he plays an FBI agent on the beach…”

“You really are the perfect Grantaire,” Grantaire acknowledged, an expert on recognizing unrequited love.

“I was considering talking to Aaron about e/R,” George began, looking a little put out, “but I figured, well, Enjolras didn’t know about your love, so maybe it’ll be best if Aaron doesn’t know.”

“And you’re too nervous to talk to him,” Grantaire said, stating the obvious.

Suddenly, Tom Hooper’s voice was heard throughout the lands calling everyone’s attention to him, and stating that if the ‘Barricade Boys’ didn’t get their asses over to the Café Musain set, there’d be dire consequences.

Grantaire thought this sounded rather ominous, but George didn’t look concerned, as though Tom’s threats were just a daily occurrence.

“Well, good luck,” Grantaire said, wanting to take this fake Grantaire under his wing and protect him from heartbreak and sadness and disappointment.

“Thank you, Grantaire,” George said, “I’m going to update my twitter with my favorite e/R quote: ‘Do you permit it’?”

“Oookay,” Grantaire said, wanting terribly to be back with Enjolras.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the ABC Café set, Tom Hooper and the crew had managed to get everything back into place. The actors were all in positions, including Eddie Redmayne who was busy doing some awkward and unconventional voice warm-ups.

George and Aaron arrived only a few minutes afterwards, pointedly avoiding each other’s eyes, followed unknowingly by two ghosts from the June Rebellion.

“I hope you all have your shit together this time,” Tom Hooper said, looking only at Aaron. He brought out his megaphone and looked ready to shout some orders.

Enjolras walked over to Grantaire, appearing as exhausted as the cast and crew forced to labor under Tom’s rule.

“How’d it go, Apollo?” Grantaire asked, thinking about the e/R fanfiction he’d just read where he called Enjolras by this nickname as though it were a religion. The Enjolras religion. The religion of golden hair and red lips and revolutionary ideology.

“It went well,” Enjolras said, raising an eyebrow and looking not at all confident. “But I think we should coach them through this scene. I don’t know if you remember—”

“Trolling Marius to get your attention?” Grantaire said, winking. “Of course I do.”

Enjolras blushed deeply. “You could have just come over and talked to me, if you wanted my attention.”

“Please, Enjolras!” Grantaire said, raising his voice dramatically. “What would you have said? Go sleep off your wine and leave me alone?”

“No,” Enjolras said, knowing full well he’d said something very similar right before the rebellion. They’d already talked (and sometimes laughed) about their fights when they were on Earth, though they were slowly forgotten over time as they formed their new life together in heaven. However, being back here, in this place that looked so similar to the Café Musain and their Paris, brought all the memories rushing back.

“Okay!” Tom Hooper shouted into his megaphone, causing everyone to jump and Enjolras to scoff. “We’re going to shoot the ABC Café scene and then the Enjolras death scene right afterwards, because I don’t feel like decorating this fucking set again.”

“Right,” Aaron agreed, trying to look wise, “kill one bird with two stones.”

“What?” Tom shouted loudly. “Aaron, stop messing around. Get into position.”

“Okay, man, calm down,” Aaron muttered, undoing a button on his shirt, for extra Enjolras sex appeal. Grantaire definitely approved.

“I never wore my shirt so open,” Enjolras commented.

“Maybe you should have,” Grantaire teased.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, and told Grantaire to be serious.

As the fake barricade boys began to sing, Grantaire and Enjolras wandered inconspicuously over to their respective actor and occasionally whispered some advice. This, of course, was incredibly distracting.

Currently, Eddie Redmayne was singing, “ _Had you been there today you might know how it feels…_ ”

Grantaire and Enjolras agreed that Eddie was the perfect combination of awkward, lovesick, and dazed to play Marius.

“ _To be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight!_ ”

Enjolras scoffed, remembering Marius’s antics over Cosette and how they’d interrupted his would-be inspirational speech.

Aaron looked over at the Enjolras ghost then scoffed as well. Enjolras thought it was rather convincing.

The rest of the song went on with little to no incident. Fra Fee, who they discovered was playing Courfeyrac, interrupted the song with,

“ _Listen everybody!”_ and this time his Irish accent was understood.

Grantaire thought that George was doing an excellent job of playing him, gazing at Aaron with reverence whilst actively trolling and looking upset that Enjolras was throwing his life away for a pointless cause. In fact, this whole scene was making Grantaire quite emotional.

After the shooting was finished, Tom told everyone to get the fuck out unless their names were George Blagden and Aaron Tveit.

Tom and the set crew rearranged a few things, tossing over tables to make it look like a battle had gone on. He then gathered the cast that was playing the National Guard, including none other than Hadley Fraser, who, for some reason, was able to see Grantaire.

“Whoa,” he said, looking around to see if anyone else noticed the ghost. “Grantaire, is that you?”

“Uh, yes,” Grantaire said, self-consciously. Tom was busy offering last-minute directions to Aaron and George, and so no one noticed Hadley seemingly talking to himself, except for Enjolras.

“Hello, citizen,” Enjolras said, but Hadley apparently could only see Grantaire.

“I always said that I have a deep spiritual connection with Grantaire,” Hadley said, looking into the distance romantically, “but I never thought I’d get to interact with his ghost.”

“A deep spiritual connection?” Enjolras scoffed. “Please.”

Grantaire found Enjolras’s slight jealousy more than a little adorable.

While Hadley Fraser was busy regaling Grantaire with a story of how inspiring he’d found his plight when he’d played him in the 25th Anniversary concert of _Les Misérables_ (Grantaire found it distinctly disturbing that there were so many versions of their stories – and also flattering that someone found his life inspiring), Tom Hooper shouted into his megaphone that they were to begin shooting and that Hadley Fraser should stop talking to himself and join the rest of the fake National Guard.

“Oh, sorry,” Hadley said, frazzled. “Well, it was good talking to you, R.”

Grantaire smiled while Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“He’s weird,” Enjolras commented. “Now if you’re done, let’s go make sure they do our deaths justice.”

As Enjolras was walking away, Grantaire gently put his hand on Enjolras’s lower back and lead him over to the window. Enjolras looked over and smiled, leaning into Grantaire’s touch.

The scene seemed to be going splendidly (if splendid were another word for painfully tragic), up until George took his place beside Aaron.

George, who was an amazing actor but incredibly shy and modest by nature, seemed unsure whether or not it was okay to take Aaron’s hand.

Grantaire understood that feeling. He’d been exceedingly nervous asking permission to die by Enjolras’s side, afraid that Enjolras might tell him no, that his death was meant to be honorable and he couldn’t have Grantaire messing that up. Instead, Enjolras had taken his hand, and that had been the start of their beautiful life together in the heaven-barricade.

Grantaire, who felt an immense feeling of protection over this young, attractive fake-Grantaire, decided he needed to do something.

“Take his hand!” Grantaire called. It was quite loud, although no one except George, Enjolras, and Hadley could hear him.

George looked over at Grantaire like a deer caught in the headlights. He’d been trying to forget that there were ghosts in the room in order to focus on the task.

“TAKE HIS HAAAAND!” Grantaire called, waving his arms in the air.

Enjolras elbowed him gently, and grabbed his hand out of the air.

“Stop being obnoxious,” he said.

Hesitantly, George put his hand on Aaron’s lower back and was almost about to reach down and take his hand when the fake National Guard fired their fake guns and Aaron and George fake died.

All things considered, Grantaire thought that if Hadley Fraser was such an avid fan of Grantaire he could have at least waited until George and Aaron were holding hands before killing them. Well, it was better than nothing.

“They didn’t include ‘do you permit it’,” Enjolras commented, his face blank.

“That’s fine,” Grantaire said, squeezing his hand. “That’s just for us, anyway.”

They shared a shy smile.

The romantic moment was ruined as Tom Hooper once again picked up his megaphone and shouted, “Okay, Aaron, we have to go hang you out the window now. Get moving, everyone.”

George walked over to Grantaire, looking as though he’d just won the lottery.

“Thank you for all your help, Grantaire,” George said, and he leaned in to give Grantaire a hug.

Grantaire, not used to receiving hugs from anyone except occasionally Enjolras, was shocked at the action. He was even more surprised that George didn’t fall right through him.

They were so distracted that they didn’t notice when Aaron walked over, his face covered in fake blood and looking incredibly cool.

“Hey, man,” he addressed Enjolras, “I hope I represented you well.”

“You were excellent, citizen,” Enjolras said.

George and Aaron hesitantly made eye contact, smiling at each other, acknowledging each other’s presence. Grantaire felt like a proud mother.

“Well, we should get going,” Enjolras said, “I’m sure the other _amis_ are wondering why we’re not at Marius’s celebration.”

“Before we go,” Grantaire said, blushing profusely, “I was thinking we could go see the Eiffel Tower. It’s Paris’s most well known landmark nowadays and…well, you love Paris, so…”

Before Enjolras could respond to the cuteness before him, George brought his hands to his cheeks and exclaimed,

“Oh my god, so romantic! You both should go tonight, it’ll be a full moon, and France’s moon is beautiful over the Eiffel Tower!”

Grantaire and Enjolras exchanged a look, but decided not to comment. Aaron, however, had no such discretion,

“Man, France has the same moon as the rest of the world.”

“Oh,” George said, softly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Aaron confirmed.

“Aaron, oh my god,” Tom called, “if you’re not hanging out this window in six seconds I swear to god.”

Aaron ran over to the window, and George excused himself to quickly text his sister and ask if France really had the same moon.

“Shall we?” Grantaire said, holding out his arm.

Enjolras took it, and they used their ghostly powers of teleportation to spend the night gazing at France’s moon over the Eiffel Tower, never feeling more in love, and certain that their stories would be celebrated and forever immortalized in _Les Misérables_.


End file.
